Groan’d inly, sore aggrieved: but soon devised
A stratagem of mischief and of fraud.
Sudden creating for herself a kind
Of whiter iron, she with labour framed
A scythe enormous: and address’d her sons:
She spoke emboldening words, though grieved at heart.
“My sons! alas! ye children of a sire
Most impious, now obey a mother’s voice:
So shall we well avenge the fell despite
Of him your father, who the first devised